“That man…” Hazel smacked the side of a bus-stop bench.
“He needs to die. Again. ”
It was hard to tell in the rain, but she seemed to be blinking back tears. Her long curly hair was plastered down the sides of her face. In the gray light, her gold eyes looked more like tin.
Percy remembered how confident she’d acted when they first met—taking control of the situation with the gorgons and ushering him to safety. She’d comforted him at the shrine of Neptune and made him feel welcome at camp.
Now he wanted to return the favor, but he wasn’t sure how. She looked lost, bedraggled, and thoroughly depressed.
Percy wasn’t surprised that she had come back from the Underworld. He’d suspected that for a while—the way she avoided talking about her past, the way Nico di Angelo had been so secretive and cautious.
But that didn’t change how Percy saw her. She seemed. . . well, alive, like a regular kid with a good heart, who deserved to grow up and have a future. She wasn’t a ghoul like Phineas.
“We’ll get him,” Percy promised. “He’s nothing like you, Hazel. I don’t care what he says. ”
She shook her head. “You don’t know the whole story. I should have been sent to Punishment. I—I’m just as bad—”
“No, you’re not!” Frank balled his fists. He looked around like he was searching for anybody who might disagree with him—enemies he could hit for Hazel’s sake. “She’s a good person!” he yelled across the street. A few harpies squawked in the trees, but no one else paid them any attention.
Hazel stared at Frank. She reached out tentatively, as if she wanted to take his hand but was afraid he might evaporate.
“Frank. . . ” she stammered. “I—I don’t. . . ”
Unfortunately, Frank seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.
He slung his spear off his back and gripped it uneasily.
“I could intimidate that old man,” he offered, “maybe scare him—”
“Frank, it’s okay,” Percy said. “Let’s keep that as a backup plan, but I don’t think Phineas can be scared into cooperating. Besides, you’ve only got two more uses out of the spear, right?”
Frank scowled at the dragon’s-tooth point, which had grown back completely overnight. “Yeah. I guess. …”
Percy wasn’t sure what the old seer had meant about Frank’s family history—his great-grandfather destroying camp, his Argonaut ancestor, and the bit about a burned stick controlling Frank’s life. But it had clearly shaken Frank up. Percy decided not to ask for explanation
s. He didn’t want the big guy reduced to tears, especially in front of Hazel.
“I’ve got an idea. ” Percy pointed up the street. “The red-feathered harpy went that way. Let’s see if we can get her to talk to us. ”
Hazel looked at the food in his hands. “You’re going to use that as bait?”
“More like a peace offering,” Percy said. “Come on. Just try to keep the other harpies from stealing this stuff, okay?”
Percy uncovered the Thai noodles and unwrapped the cinnamon burrito. Fragrant steam wafted into the air. They walked down the street, Hazel and Frank with their weapons out. The harpies fluttered after them, perching on trees, mailboxes, and flagpoles, following the smell of food.
Percy wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist. Maybe they thought the harpies were pigeons and the weapons were lacrosse sticks or something. Maybe they just thought the Thai mac and cheese was so good it needed an armed escort.
Percy kept a tight grip on the food. He’d seen how quickly the harpies could snatch things. He didn’t want to lose his peace offering before he found the red-feathered harpy.
Finally he spotted her, circling above a stretch of parkland that ran for several blocks between rows of old stone buildings. Paths stretched through the park under huge maple and elm trees, past sculptures and playgrounds and shady benches. The place reminded Percy of…some other park. Maybe in his hometown? He couldn’t remember, but it made him feel homesick.
They crossed the street and found a bench to sit on, next to a big bronze sculpture of an elephant.
“Looks like Hannibal,” Hazel said.
“Except it’s Chinese,” Frank said. “My grandmother has one of those. ” He flinched. “I mean, hers isn’t twelve feet tall. But she imports stuff…from China. We’re Chinese. ” He looked at Hazel and Percy, who were trying hard not to laugh. “Could I just die from embarrassment now?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Percy said. “Let’s see if we can make friends with the harpy. ”
He raised the Thai noodles and fanned the smell upward—spicy peppers and cheesy goodness. The red harpy circled lower.
“We won’t hurt you,” Percy called up in a normal voice. “We just want to talk. Thai noodles for a chance to talk, okay?”
The harpy streaked down in a flash of red and landed on the elephant statue.
She was painfully thin. Her feathery legs were like sticks. Her face would have been pretty except for her sunken cheeks. She moved in jerky birdlike twitches, her coffee-brown eyes darting restlessly, her fingers clawing at her plumage, her earlobes, her shaggy red hair.
“Cheese,” she muttered, looking sideways. “Ella doesn’t like cheese. ”
Percy hesitated. “Your name is Ella?”
“Ella. Aella. ‘Harpy. ’ In English. In Latin. Ella doesn’t like cheese. ” She said all that without taking a breath or making eye contact. Her hands snatched at her hair, her burlap dress, the raindrops, whatever moved.